


The Cursed End

by Shamanekko



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda (Video Game 1986)
Genre: Action/Adventure, BAMF Link (Legend of Zelda), F/M, Friendship/Love, Future Hyrule, Gerudo Culture, Gritty, Kingdom of Hyrule, Mystery Trio, Rivalry, Self-Sacrifice, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Timelines, prince zelda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:40:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26508364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamanekko/pseuds/Shamanekko
Summary: “So these are actually parts of the Queen’s soul?” She held hers up to the light, admiring its glimmer.These, and six others, it seems.” Link let this own piece slide from one palm to the other. “They're the key to something. Something we're missing." The young woman looked away, doubtful, but Link smiled softly. "I'm sure of it"___________________A bookish adventurer, a royal brat, and powerful young woman each find their way into Forbidden Valley, lured by stories of what happened there, long before Hyrule's centuries of calm prosperity.Their ambitions place them squarely at odds, but when a new possibility emerges, a last chance to free their lands and themselves from a brutal cycle of violence, the lines that divide them start to blur.Can the three of them, so far separated from the powers and wisdom of old, succeed where countless others had failed?*A dramatic re-imagining of the very two Legend of Zelda games circa 1986/87; a tale of friendship, fate, and finality.*
Relationships: Link/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 9





	1. Gerudo Moon

^ ^ ^

Teva placed a velvet cloth over her seer stone, unused and devoid of spark for most the night. If business got any worse, she’d have to move to a poorer district. Looking out her curtains at the red dirt of New Goron, she wondered if that was really even possible.

Alone in her little shop, she broke the illusion of wise mystic and yawned loudly. She was more of a charlatan these days, anyway. A long sip from her mug pretty well proved it. Spiced ale had replaced her desert teas, a seer stone sat where her blood dais should, and her silly hovel was a poor replacement for the glamour and opulence of a desert palace.

Maybe the countryside, she mused, as she often did on slow days. She could travel by horse and plod from town to town, reading stars and blessing fields for earnest farmers. Pity she was no good at rare-earth dowsing. Mining companies were springing up in every direction. Well, every direction save one.

She stepped outside, feeling the cool breeze of the early morning. Most of her profit came in the hours when nobler souls chose to sleep. Her shop sat amongst a lengthy stretch of taverns and brothels, which usually worked to her benefit. Lovers and drunks came through her parlor quite regularly, whether jilted, guilty, or both.

On this night, however, a red moon had stolen the night sky, and Hylians were positively _terrified_ of blood moons. In hushed, somber tones, they whispered its commoner name: the Gerudo Moon. "Best stay away from that lot on such nights," they warned their children.

It chagrined her that they continued to find ways to disparage her people, but what bothered her more was the truth in it. Her powers of sight were far more accurate and far-reaching under a red night sky. She'd researched it, but the connection and accompanying prejudice was hard to trace; it might be older than recorded history.

She grimaced as she shuttered her windows. Her power was wasted if she had nobody to guide. She’d learned at an early age never to step outside herself without another soul to anchor her. When they'd been forced to try it, some of her fellow trainees simply never came back, their bodies limp and starving on the floor. They had been left to die, of course. Gerudo culture did not reward the spiritually, or physically, weak.

The air outside her shop seemed to grow entirely still, and a premonitory feeling grasped her soul. Calmly, she turned her head and peered down the empty street. Leaning against a stone wall was a small woman, shrouded in a dark red cloak.

There were things Teva could divine just through proximity, through her many years of practice. The small woman was young, hungry but fairly healthy. Anger and determination rolled off her like waves, lapping at the dust and stone. There was fire in her blood, blazing but controlled; a fellow clanswoman then.

_"Sav'saaba."_ It was barely more than a whisper, the girl clearly didn’t want to be noticed. They both stayed still for a long time before the younger cautiously approached. Her tanned nose and golden eyes could be glimpsed as her hood shirred from side to side. Teva opened the front door and beckoned her through.

With tea on the fire and the girl sinking deep into an over-stuffed chair, Teva retrieved a padded box from its cabinet. It went under the table for the moment. The girl removed her ornate hood and they stared at each other. Her golden irises seemed to pulse with youthful intensity. The seer wondered if they would gradually turn to emerald green with age, as hers had. She was young, but growing into a beauty; maybe too wide in the jaw, but she had many of the sharp, angular features that got Hylian bards bemused and bothered. Resting against her thigh was a short sword, straight for a stretch, and then curved like a sickle.

“That’s no mere weapon you carry, _vehvi._ ”

"I know." The eye roll she received was slow and dramatic; a child indeed.

“The _Bas’batel_ use that kind of sword. They aren’t fond of imitators.”

“I’m aware. I can assure you all their oaths and creeds come along with the training.” The girl sunk farther into the couch, smirking. She pulled a heavy bag of coins from her cloak and tossed it onto the table.

Teva glared.

She glared, and slowly tipped the bag off her table. It spilled open, depositing more gold onto her floor than she had possessed in years. She watched a lone coin roll beneath her cabinets. “Did you think I’d let you pay the Hylian way? For a prodigy, you aren’t very sharp.”

The younger woman’s jaw twitched, but she kept herself still. Her eyes scanned the dusty parlor, and settled on knots in the wooden floor beneath her.

“Why not? You could certainly use the coin.” The seer crossed her arms and huffed at that. “And, if I’m not mistaken, we’re all Hylians now.”

“Don’t be daft, little _Bas’batel_ , our kingdom is gone, not our culture.”

The girl stood up, angrily. “I will not give you my blood! My secrets are valuable to me!”

Teva leaned back, relaxed and in control. “But not as valuable as mine, I’d wager. I wonder what it is you think I know.” She chuckled as she opened her padded box. Inside were the pieces of her blood dais, her last connection to a grander form of prophecy. “We needn’t say any of this aloud, mind you. The dais will save your breath and my time, considerably.”

Her deft hands assembled the device in minutes. It resembled a black stone basket, with its shallow bowl and its crossing arches. The edges of the bowl were serrated and still improbably sharp, despite its antiquity. How a no-name seer in New Goron had one in her possession, the girl could only guess; when the kingdom fell, a lot of things went missing. As did its prophetic elite.

The seer ran her thumb along the basin’s edge, droplets of blood making their way to the herbal water within. It clouded pink and spread wide. “Your turn, child.”

"To know me is a curse, woman." The girl's voice dropped to something like a plea. "Let me pay with gold."

Teva took the time to consider who she might truly be dealing with. The girl was clearly on the run, though many Gerudo could recognize the weapon she carried, and would know the sacred order she hailed from. Whether carelessness or a brazen lack of fear, she couldn't decide. 

A drop of blood, and she'd know everything in an instant. She refused the girl.

“This is barbaric.”

“Humorous, coming from an executioner.”

The girl grimaced, but removed her glove and made the cut. They resumed their staring contest as their bloods mixed. After a time, Teva dipped her hand into the basin and gracefully craned her neck back. Cupping the pink water high above her, little droplets assailed her open eyes. The girl peered with dismay as the woman’s eyes become nothing but pupil; deep, black, and reflective in the candlelight.

^ ^ ^

For an hour, nothing in the shop moved, save the wavering shadows the two of them cast. Blood prophecy was a tricky business, and Teva had her hands full with this one. It took decades of training to be able to step gracefully into somebody’s destined path, find the heart of their concerns, and extricate. Really, it was the exit that was the trouble. Most fates were gruesome and mundane, but a select few…

“I see.”

“Yes, I daresay that’s the point, seer” the girl remarked.

Teva could feel her vision piecing itself back together. Shades and shadow became grey masses, which eventually bloomed in their usual colors: the browns of her cabinet, the purple in her flowers, the auburn red of the girl’s hair.

“What have you done, child?” Her wavering voice betrayed more of her fear than she desired.

“Regretting it now, witch? You deserve it, for crawling through others' blood, using their secrets as currency.” The girls eyes darkened, brows furrowed together. “And I’ve done nothing wrong. Their _protection_ was a farce, their endearment a weak imitation of sisterhood. I was a prisoner of their fear. I always would have been!”

Teva stumbled as she stood, unsteady from the procedure. Blood bonds were invasive but informative. She’d seen much she shouldn’t have, or rather, just enough to latch her to the messiest fate she’d ever witnessed. Naturally, she now knew exactly what the girl needed. A leather folio sat near the top of a stack of papers on her work desk, having been recently perused.

“You are aware they’ll come after you? They’ll follow you to any shore, through any mountain, any-“

“Valley?” The girl smirked. Teva sighed; the arrogance of youth.

“Even there, it’s possible they'd follow. Surely, you understand why?” She dropped the book heavily on the table. “Nearly everything you’ll need is in there. Follow the maps, study the writings. It will get you to the canyons. It will inform you of what you might find there.” Teva slid an empty bit of parchment and a charcoal pen to the girl. “Write down the rest of what I say. Really, this is the part you paid for.”

The girl readied herself.

“The canyons are deep and intricate. There are several cavernous entrances, but many are collapsed, and all are infested with the kinds of creatures that have slipped from public knowledge. There is, however, a young man who has preceded you, by a matter of days.”

“Is he the reason half these pages are marked and dog-eared?” Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

“He’s made it inside, and left quite a trail in his wake. Look for his clumsy prints, scorch marks, and dead creatures.”

The seer struggled with her next words.

“Knowledge of the future is tricky to act upon. It is as unreliable and corruptible as we ourselves. It would be unwise for me to tell you too much of what I have seen. That said, when you do catch up to him -and you will, _vehvi_ , he’s not very extraordinary- don’t kill him. He could be of use to you.”

The girl stared down at the curve of her blade. “That sounds more like a plea than guidance, seer. What is he to you?”

“He’s the nephew of someone very dear to me. In a way, he's like my own.”

The girl tried to hide her taunting smirk. “Bit old for a _Voe_ , aren’t you?”

Teva regarded her severely. “You need to leave, now. It won’t be long before they’ve tracked you here. They'll carve a devastating, ruinous path to find you."

The girl picked up the folio and placed it in her bag. Her hood went back up as she unlatched the front door. “Anyone who tries to stand in my way will die, seer. I'm sure you divined as much.”

The cool night air blew inside, extinguishing a few of Teva’s dying candles. The girl looked over shoulder, her eyes shining in the Gerudo Moon.

“Best hope this nephew of yours is a coward.”

^ ^ ^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, here we go! I thought it might be interesting to give this old Nes/Famicom classic a bit of narrative depth. There are quite a few planned divergences from the original game, most notably through original characters, but I'll try my best to adhere to the lore, and capture the lonely, adventurous spirit of it all.
> 
> Updates will come regularly. Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated, so please, let me have it ;)
> 
> Here are some of the Gerudo terms explained for those who didn't play BOTW:
> 
> Sav'saaba = good evening
> 
> Vehvi = girl
> 
> Voe = soulmate/sexual partner/spouse or something along those lines.
> 
> Bas'batel = made this one up. Let's say "elite warrior" for now.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	2. To Go Alone

It was a long, dreary trek to the valley. Much longer than he'd imagined. He’d been enamored with the idea of traveling on horseback, like the heroes of old, but he realized in hindsight that a horse was never going to be able to take the narrow, twisting paths through the mountains that encircled his destination. Eventually, he could no longer bear to make it suffer, and unburdened the mare near a little mountain stream with crystal waters and high cattails. She was beautiful, her silvery mane catching the sun as she carefully made her way out of sight. It was the right thing to do, be he missed having a living, breathing creature alongside him. Well, besides the snakes, crickets, and howling wolves. “Maybe she made it all the way back,” he hoped aloud.

He knew from the crude map folded into his journal that the way through was a tunnel, likely overgrown or collapsed. No canyon led directly into the valley, and nobody seemed to have made it in and returned in hundreds of years. He’d packed a few small bombs in case he needed to blast his way through.

As he clambered over boulders in search of a way through the high red rock of the canyon wall, a high-pitched noise echoed up from somewhere nearby. Excitement gripped him, he may have found his underground path at last! But, it was short lived.

The next screech that echoed up from the earth below was as thunderous as it was ear-splitting. Hastily, he drew his sword, though the weight of it nearly threw him off-balance. Fear pecked at his resolve, reminding him that he’d never much used the blade. Bows were more his thing; he could hit a target from 50 paces with only a second’s aim, but swords…

^ ^ ^

" _Heroes use swords.” the old man said. “The heroes of old were even thought to communicate with theirs.”_

_Link looked down at the weather-worn scabbard he was holding and grimaced. “I don’t know how to use one of these, Uncle. It takes years to learn, and I’ll probably just hurt myself, waving it about.”_

_Sneering, his uncle pulled a shield off the wall. “Courage indeed.” He tossed the hunk of emblazoned wood into his nephew’s chest. “Favor the shield hand for now, and switch to a sword-first stance as you grow more comfortable with one.”_

_The young man looked up, blue eyes wide with worry. “You’re giving me these?”_

_Wrinkled fingers nimbly extracted, packed, and lit a pipe. His face was shadowed in the dim light of his urban hovel. “I didn’t know what to think of it, when Lena and your father left to raise you in some backwater. I suppose she always carried romantic notions of rural life.”_

_Gingerly placing the sword and shield on a nearby table, Link gave a wry smile. His mother loved the morning dew, and the quiet of an afternoon unperturbed._

_"I was sure you’d find your way back to me as some mangy shepherd, or tethered to an expectant country lass. Maybe both!” His booming laugh echoed harshly in the tiny room. “But you didn’t. You came here with grand delusions and a suicidal lust for adventure. That, dear nephew, I know a little something about.”_

_Link’s eyes lit up, his chest airy with anticipation. “So you’ve been there? You’ve entered the Forbidden Valley?”_

_"No. Nobody’s been there in centuries. Overrun with monstrosities, that place. I’m sure you’ve heard the tales.” He watched his nephew’s shoulders slump with every word. “But, I do know someone who knows her way in.”_

_The ensuing silence and heat coming off the fireplace were almost unbearable. The young man desperately wished he hadn’t worn his chain mail. It was cool to the touch, but the weight made everything a tiny bit more difficult, even breathing._

_“It will be maybe a week’s journey. Once I get you to New Goron, you will pay her handsomely for the information, and we’ll part ways. The journey beyond is yours alone.” He paused and considered “I’ll train you in swordsmanship along the way. Should be enough to ensure you can swing it responsibly.” The old man nodded down at the weapon on the table._

_"Uncle, I don’t mean to offend, but I can’t just take your sword.” Link shook his head slowly. “You told me quite recently that it is like an old friend.”_

_"Ay, as it should be. An adventurer’s sword is much like a companion. Sometimes, when you’re out there, it’s the only friend you have.”_

_The young man made as if he wanted to argue, but his uncle shot him a piercing glance from the shadows. The blues in his eyes were dancing like fire. “Just take it, kid. Trust me.”_

_Link reached out and pulled the scabbard towards him. Slowly, he lifted the sword by its tarnished pommel. Whatever its outward appearance, the blade itself was polished and gleaming. He could see his own reflection, the wild locks of red-gold hair that liked to escape his cap. He had to admit, he liked the weight of it in his hands; a weapon, and a friend, for the long journey ahead._

_A meaty, calloused palm firmly gripped his shoulder. “Keep it with you, always. It’s dangerous to go alone.”_

^ ^ ^

Sweat beaded at the tip of his nose, and a noticeable itch sprang up in one ear. Still, he remained rigid. Shrieking once again echoed up the canyon walls, but he still couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Slowly, he reached over his shoulder with his free hand and unhooked his shield from its place on his studded shoulder belt; yet another gift from his magnanimous uncle.

No sooner had he fitted his hand into the hunk of wood than a teeming mass of darkness burst through the brush not five paces in front of him. The deafening cacophony of its screech bounced off the canyon walls; he could feel the noise rippling through the metal in his shield.

Panic momentarily arrested him, but he planted his feet until his mind could catch up. A hero would be steadfast.

The twisting, streaming mass of black made its way high up into the sky, and then burst apart, spreading out over the burning sky above. The widening mass seemed to halt, and lazily turn back towards the ground. And suddenly, it all clicked. Keese _. A lot of Keese._

The creatures folded their wings back as they hurtled toward the source of warm blood below. He could just make out their large, single eyeballs, burning orange in the sun. Link burst into a run, diving into a divot of dirt, brush, and stone. He lifted his shield above his head, protecting him from the first few to strike. But no shield could stop a swarm.

A confusing flurry of slashing and biting overwhelmed him. He could feel his skin being torn from his face, neck, and arms. Screaming, and swinging his sword wildly, he felt the blade cleave through something solid, but the swarm continued. Pulling in tight, Link crouched deeply and screamed every curse he knew. What would anyone say if they could see him now, cowering and waiting to die?

He had pored over every creature compendium and traveler’s journal in the capital city, spent a year at the table of any scholar who wouldn’t spit at his feet. He just needed a second to think!

Link closed his eyes and traced what he’d learned.

_Keese. Poor depth perception. Hunt in swarms. Hunt by smell. Bodies covered by a course, dry fur…_

Frantically, Link threw his sword and shield in the dirt. He opened two pouches on his belt. In one hand, he held flint, in the other, little metal spheres with spindly wicks; bombs. The keese seemed a little more erratically when he struck the flint.

The first blast scattered them skyward. As they regrouped in the Sun’s glare, he set about tying another bomb to an arrowhead. The blood on his fingers soaked into the twine, and the swarm was already regrouping by the time he lifted his arrow skyward. As soon as he caught the glint of a big, fiery eye, he let loose on center mass.

The explosion tore apart several of them, and set alight dozens more. The swarm immediately scattered in wailing protest. Link once again hoisted his shield above his head as carcasses pelted the landscape. The air was thick with the scent of charred flesh and blasting powder.

Reaching down, he pulled his Uncle’s sword out of the dirt and wiped it off on his trousers. Before sliding it back into the scabbard, he brought the hilt close to his face. “Sorry! I’m sure you have your uses … friend.” He couldn’t imagine someone like his uncle talking to a sword, let alone the heroes of old. It felt strange.

A ringing sound rose up from the silence; the twin blasts had damaged his ears somewhat. They had likely also alerted others creatures in the area. He could clearly see the patch of gnarled deku and juniper the keese had burst out of. Beneath it all, he’d wager there was a deep cavern. He’d found his way in.

^ ^ ^

The descent was long and arduous. He wasn’t a terrible climber, but the blood from his bites was weakening his grip. Keese venom clearly had some sort of anti-coagulant property to it. Grimacing, he tugged slowly on his security rope. Falling rubble plunged noisily into a dark body of water beneath him, but he had no way of knowing how deep it was. It wouldn’t do to drop in unless he was sure he wouldn’t break a leg.

His mother had helped him hone his climbing instincts when he was young. He remembered watching her collect falcon eggs from the sheer cliff face near their She would sing as she took one from each nest, as if she weren’t thirty paces high, or under constant threat from an angry set of talons. When he'd asked to join her, she told him to climb every tree in the forest first. He’d almost finished by the time she passed away.

Link forced himself to focus, reaching down gingerly with his feet in search of holds. Eventually, one of them dipped into water, and he allowed himself to slide the rest of the way in.

As soon as he was submerged, his bite marks felt better; a soft, almost ticklish feeling bloomed behind his rib cage. In the small amount of light streaming down from the cavern opening, he could see the cuts on his skin had stopped bleeding so much. Then, they grew smaller, and eventually went from pink to silvery white. With horror, he realized there was something unnatural in the water.

Panicking, he struggled against the weight of his equipment, swimming like mad. He yelped in pain as something constricted his waist and pulled him back. Tearing his knife from his belt, he thrashed at whatever had taken hold of him, but he was striking at nothing. In his fervor, he'd forgotten to cut the security rope.

He cursed aloud until he found solid ground. The rocky terrain seemed flat enough, but he could hear the sound of rushing water, and loathed the idea of crawling into rapids, or off a ledge. There wasn’t enough light this far from the lake, and he couldn't see much around him. One of his leather pouches was double-layered and waterproofed, though it was only large enough to fit his travel journal and a few heirlooms. Everything else was soaked through. 

Slowly crawling back to the edge of the underwater pool, he felt around for dry tinder. Eventually, his hand rested on a small pile of wood debris. It was a bit damp, but he got to work with a bit of dry moss and flint. Eventually, he had a small blaze going, bright enough to allow him see his surroundings: high cavern walls, a winding stream, and a clear staircase carved into stone.

Sitting back against the rock wall, he removed his stockings and boots, setting them close to the heat. His outer tunic and chain-mail came off as well. Gazing into the fire, he contemplated adding to his journal. Maybe he’d make a sketch of the keese, though they were common enough in Hyrule. He was still pondering what to do when fatigue set in, and he drifted off to sleep instead.

^ ^ ^

The fire was mostly coal and ash when he awoke. If there had been a dream, he couldn’t remember it. Small flames licked at the edges of the coals; the fire would be salvageable, if he didn’t plan to leave immediately. It had already been foolish to take what rest he had. The valley was forbidden for a reason, any number of creatures could best him in the dark.

A strange humming sound was in the air, low but perceptible. As he strapped his gear into place, something glittered in the corner of his eye. Slowly, cautiously, he turned his head.

Twin orbs of light bobbed along the glassy surface of the healing lake. They were softly pink, and small motes of light seemed to settle behind them as they danced and weaved. His hands came to rest at his sides, his mouth slightly ajar. It was absolutely mesmerizing.

As the lights came closer, a soft music rose up from the hum, vaguely familiar and immediately soothing. That warm, ticklish feeling from earlier was back, working its way around his heart. His feet were feeling numb, so he sat down; cross-legged, like a child.

The song rose from a melody to an aria. The balls of light came within a pace of him, bobbing and weaving, raining sparks of light all around. Tears fell steadily from his eyes, almost like he’d sprung a leak. A vague notion surfaced; he knew this song, but from where?

As swiftly as they’d come, they were leaving, their chorale lingering on the lake’s surface. He stared into the pitch black, and felt the warmth in his soul start to die away, like the coals in in his fire. Pink circles tinted his vision, burned into his eyes no matter what direction he looked. A desperate, frantic voice deep down urged him sit and stay. Maybe they’d come back if he waited.

In their brief time together, his uncle had relayed numerous stories with a similar moral: magic, whether benevolent or vile, was noting to be trifled with. He’d never believed there was anything left in the world but the darker variety. Now, he’d seen fairies, honest to goodness fairies! He laughed with joy into the endless dark.

He‘d seen something incredible, he should add it to the journal.

He built a torch with a rag and some of the oil he’d stashed away. It went against the wall as he fished out his tattered booklet.

It was quite old, and the spine was losing its grip on the paper within. Most of it was Sketches and writings he’d cut out of tomes much too large to haul around. But, the last sixty pages or so were blank, and he intended to fill every last bit of parchment. The adventure had already encompassed two full pages: sketches of a looming volcano, and of the Gerudo man he swore he'd seen. His uncle assured him, that was entirely implausible.

Quickly, without much precision, he sketched the fairies from memory. He snorted at the depiction, essentially a circle with dragonfly wings, but the pretty things had been too bright to fully realize.

Satisfied, he lifted his torch and set off into the cavern. To keep his nerves, he murmured to himself, singing old songs he knew, or reciting passages he’d memorized from his favorite stories; stories from long before Hyrule’s centuries of peace and prosperity. About princesses and heroes haunted by demons, and cunning plans that saved the day.

About a blood curse so deep and powerful, it would ravage the world till the end of time.

Link reached back and felt the cool metal of his sword, calming to the touch. A breeze shifted through the cavern, and the walls were lighter to his eyes. Beyond lay the valley, and the truth in the legends.

He'd find it, or fall. He was born for this.

^ ^ ^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now things are picking up! Had a lot of fun writing this one. I'll try to get the next one out quickly. Feedback is helpful and appreciated! Let me know what you all think!
> 
> Until next time!


	3. The Roan in the Reeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had an ill-fated computer crash and lost some data, so I had to rewrite this one, but I'm happy with the changes that naturally came about! This story is a blast to write, I don't get to mess about with swords and horses in my other works. Hope you enjoy!

The sun beat down as mercilessly as the wind and sand grated at her skin. These were conditions she was quite familiar with, of course, but her repeated failed attempts at tracking her quarry left her in a sour, uncomfortable mood. She stared up at the high rock walls, noted the point at which they narrowed and joined together; another dead end.

Hunting and tracking were not her strong suits. She only knew what she did by the grace of a few pitying masters. Like every choice the Grandmistress made, it was more practical of them to deprive her. After all, once you know how to follow prey, you better understand what it takes to stay hidden.

The young woman lowered her hood, her copper hair catching in the breeze. The only thing she could do was what she’d been doing for hours now: circle back, and try a new path.

The winds had long since buried the boy's tracks, heavy and deep as they might have been, so she’d begun to look for other signs: trampled brush, carrion birds, ash and coal; infuriatingly common sights in these sprawling canyons.

Surprisingly, her fourteenth dead-end wasn’t quite as empty and despairing as the last. A trickle of water from beneath the arching stone walls had blessed the land with enough moisture to allow mud, cattails, and the buzz of curious mosquitos. Still, a wall was a wall, and there was no time to spare. If she were caught in the canyons, there would be no simple means of escape. 

As she stretched her legs and made a mental map of where her next attempt should be, a small sound broke the silence, like water being spilled. Her sword and dagger were out immediately, poised at different angles. Heavy steps, more scraping, and the rest of the world blurred around the narrow focus of her concentration. She was more than ready; itching for it, really. It had been a long, frustrating day.

And then, out through the reeds, walked a horse.

Its silvery mane burned white in the sun, but the rest of its roan-red coat was slathered in mud and grime. It tossed its head as flies and mosquitos landed near its eyes and nose. She noted its saddle, and the way it sauntered right by her drawn sword. It was obviously quite comfortable with people.

 _But what kind of idiot tries to ride a horse through a mountain?_ Cold, steely anger built within her. The horse canted in a semi-circle, desperate to bite at its coat. Sighing, she rooted around in the reeds, looking for signs of its owner. “Whoever you’re waiting for, they're either dead, or they intended you to leave the way you came, _erevon._ ” 

Now if I could just figure out where they actually went, she thought. 

The mare ignored her completely, waving its tail at a cluster of flies that refused to depart. Sighing, the girl calmly made her way to its side and tried to shoo it out into the wider, more open canyon she'd come from. It kicked back, turned, and peered at her long enough to get the point across. With a derisive snort, it shook its mane.

“Are all Hylian horses so intelligent, or stubborn?” The ones she’d rented had been dull, listless creatures; as easily spooked by lizards as by wolves.

Before leaving, the girl rummaged through the horse's mud-soaked saddlebags, but found little she could use. Near the bottom was a wide, shallow brush. The horse’s belly was fat, and it hadn’t gone hungry, but she wondered how long it had been living in a layer of mud and pests. It certainly didn’t object when she started making wide, arcing brush strokes along its flank.

They stood there together, no sound except the mare’s occasional sigh and the ever-present blight of bugs, briefly held at bay. The girl knew she was wasting time, a decision that could prove fatal, but this was something from her old life she actually missed: a well-groomed horse, the nickering of a pregnant mare, the gait of a newborn foal.

“I had a horse like you once, you know.” Her voice was soft, just above a whisper. She was almost surprised to hear herself speak that way. “She had a shining mane like you, but her coat was light, like the desert sand.”

The horse started to turn, eager for a brush on its other side. She chuckled and got to work.

“Her name was _Mamon_ , it means “moon” in my language. My name means something like “night sky,” so I thought we might be a perfect fit. I got to choose her when I was still too young to ride, but we figured it out, together.”

In the distance, somewhere behind the haze and heat of the day, she could hear a faint rumbling. She remembered the saddle beneath her, the impact of it traveling up her spine. And then the wailing, the startled grunts as each arrow found a mark. She remembered the smell of blood, and the war cries behind her. Her cries and pleas as Mamon kneeled to her death rather than bucking her master; loyal even at the end.

“When I look back, I think she was the only true friend I ever really had, _erevon_.”

The mare let out an irritated snort, and the girl snapped back to the moment. She’d been brushing the same spot for a while, and probably a little too hard. Quickly, she finished with the coat and began chipping mud off its legs. Soon, the red-brown of its body shone as brightly as its mane.

“They say you can learn a lot about a rider through their horse, but yours was reckless to bring you here. They must be exceedingly cruel, or stupid.” The girl pulled her equipment tight and patted the mare at the thick of her neck. “They're not worth waiting around for, and I’m thinking of backtracking all the same. Want to come with me?”

With a little coaxing, the mare finally followed, and together, they made their way back to more open skies. During a water break, the horse took off without warning, a storm of hooves and dust that disappeared quickly around a crop of stone. The girl hoped it could make it to open fields and rolling hills, or wherever Hylian horses felt most content.

There were many strange constants in the land they lived in, many things that should have changed over the centuries, but remained steadfast. Like a braid being weaved through time, but always recursive, looping back. Something was holding it all in place. She wasn't always convinced of its benevolence.

Anybody would have recognized that kind of horse, with its silver mane and matching marks. It was in half the paintings in Hyrule, often rearing the legends of old. It was a horse for heroes, or those that fashioned themselves as such.

She took it as a sign that she had been on the right track. Doubling back to the mud and reeds, she pushed through the cattail stems, intending to find their end. Each step was louder and deeper than the last. The leaves cut sharply against her hands as she snapped and stomped her way through the thicket, but her suspicion was rewarded: a narrow passageway, barely wide enough to fit a man. And clear signs that somebody had scrambled through.

^ ^ ^

She was halfway into the crag when something yanked her backward with enough force to leave her breathless.

Scrambling to her knees, she caught a glint of auburn and steel. Before her mind had caught up, her body was rolling, sword and knife raised defensively. The blows were almost too much to take, and she found herself flat on her back, kicking mud at her attacker. A disgusted snarl told her she hit the mark, and she scrambled to her feet.

Another lightning fast combination of blows, but she was ready this time. The cattails bobbed and swayed around their furious exchange, the occasional stalk dropping to the mud. There was no hesitation in her opponent, just speed and brute force; each of them waiting for the fatal flaw. 

She was faster; her opponent stronger, but heavier. The mud was compacted, and growing treacherous. She was growing tired. Finally, after a series of rapid strikes, her attacker’s momentum was too far to the left, too unbalanced. The younger woman parried, spun, and kicked at the knees from behind. Her would-be captor tried to leap up, but a sword was already at the throat, a dagger on the neck. There was no clear escape.

“So, you found me.” The young woman could barely catch her breath. Too many nights without meals. The older woman beneath her blade seemed untroubled. Dead silence filled the canyon; even the mosquitos had left them.

“I found you, yes.” Her voice was calm and resolute. “And when they find my corpse, they’ll know exactly where you’ve gone, Zoheilah. And, how to get there.”

Her brow furrowed. She hadn’t heard her own name in months, hadn’t said it even once in as long. “I wouldn’t leave any part of you to find.”

The woman gave a hearty laugh. “You don’t have the time, _vehvi_. I’m just a scout, true, but they are close.”

“Who’s _they_?” She tightened her grip, and quickly scanned the canyon’s edges.

“They, as in all of us, little pig. The lower _Bas_ , your Witch-born sisters, even the Grandmistress herself."

"All this, just to kill me?"

The woman slapped her palms on her knees, and let out a hearty laugh. "That would defeat the point, wouldn't it? Maimed, crippled maybe; never killed."

Zoheilah took a deep breath, pushing her fear below the fire.

The older Gerudo nodded slowly, as if finally understanding. The blade at her neck collecting little beads of blood. “You’re leading us all to a place from which there is no escape, Zo’lah. The valley is a snare; you’ll have to kill us all to be free.”

“Yes.” She’d come to accept it days before.

The Gerudo woman closed her eyes, and whispered into the breeze.

“ _Asmai asmin’uhir ha, yansath payan-vu.” What may come, my blood is burning._

Zoheilah listened close as the wind carried away those words. She obliged the silence, and then savored her kill.

^ ^ ^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty much inventing the Gerudo language as I go, now, with influences from Sanskrit and a little Arabic, so I thought I might include translations as a running featurette:
> 
> Mamon = Moon  
> Zo = Sky  
> Heila = Night/Evening  
> Erevon = horse
> 
> Heck, I did study linguistics in school, so maybe I'll work in some grammatical constructs too, someday. Loving your support, let me know what you think!


	4. The First Night

_Just survive the first night._

His uncle’s words came to mind between his frustrated cursing and his procedural attempt to suture the cut on his neck. His chest ached deeply on the right side, and he weighed the possibility of one or two cracked ribs.

An _octorok_. A bloody huge one, bigger than he’d ever seen, really, but still. How embarrassing. He wanted to chuckle, but the pain at his side warned him off.

He remembered his cruel, boyhood game of flipping stones and crushing the little creatures underfoot. They’d scurry in all directions, spitting out pebbles in panicked defense. Now, he imagined telling that little boy about the bigger ones, the ones that spat boulders and whipped their odd legs around at such force, the air cracked.

He inhaled sharply through his teeth as a curved needle pulled one torn edge to another. He was angry at himself for not having the foresight to bottle any of the waters from the fairy lake. The keese bites hadn’t left even a single scar. In fact, Link was pretty sure that several scars from his childhood had disappeared too.

With an agonizing pull, the threads were tied off and his neck was feeling a little better, though somewhat immobilized. The blood on his hands was half-dry and sticky, and likely an attractant for certain predators. He'd need to wash.

Outside the crop of trees he’d sheltered in, the splashes of twilight were burning to umber. It would be dark soon, and he’d need more a few oaks to secure himself. Somewhere in the distance, a commotion of grunts, snarling, and what sounded disconcertingly like language rose into the night.

^ ^ ^

_Just survive the first night. It’s okay to be afraid if the fear helps you stay vigilant._

It wasn’t the horrific pig-like appearance of moblins that scared Link, nor the potent, sour odor that left his breathing choked and shallow. For Link, the true terror was what danced behind their eyes. Bipedal or not, they were entirely beasts, except in those deep, dark circles that analyzed him from afar.

Though he’d hate to admit it, the apparent intelligence there petrified him. Stumbling upon one on a starlit path, he felt frozen in place, unnerved and unprepared. They silently regarded each other for a stretch of time, long enough for the crickets to resume their cautious chirping.

And then a spear flew within a pace of him, its hardwood snapping as it impacted with a tree to his right. Another spear bore into the land at his feet, and Link realized all at once that he’d been surrounded; trapped, like a fox.

With a gravelly chorus of war cries, pig-men stepped out from behind trees and out of shadows, the whites of their eyes shining in the dark. He’d never faced down a creature like this, let alone a small company of them. He couldn’t fight them all.

The forest looked like it dipped into glen to his right, and he didn’t want to overthink it. His shield and sword clattered loudly as the sped over roots and deadfalls. A moblin stepped between him and the valley, spear and shield held wide. Reaching back, Link pulled his sword and went right for the middle, blade first. A strangled sounded escaped its lips as the beast lost its footing and slammed against the forest floor. Link bowled gracelessly over him, a dull pain where the pommel of his sword had braced against him. A burning sensation told him his neck suture had not held, but he didn’t have time. He retrieved his sword from the creature’s shuddering chest, and watched the spark of life disappear from its glassy eyes.

He’d studied the fauna and intelligent creatures of Hyrule extensively, but the compendiums always came up short on moblins. They were so unlike the other beings of Hyrule, and their origin was a mystery. Link startled as an arrow struck loudly against a nearby tree, followed by several more. “They have bows too. Wonderful.”

^ ^ ^

_Just survive the first night. The wild isn’t much like your stories. You’ll want finesse, and clean solutions, but you won’t find them out there._

He looked down at the glen from up high, little more than a strip of shadows in the starlight. He’d been clambering up the mountainous wall for at least an hour now, judging by the position of the moon. His neck was throbbing and his wrist was a little swollen, but his progress was steady. The only thing that mattered now was rest, or rather, shelter in which to rest.

Groaning, he hoisted himself onto a bit of flat land. A chilled wind whipped by as he lay there, staring up at a nebulous moon, sitting bright behind a veil of mist. He felt so tired, so reluctant to rise from the grasses waving around him. His thoughts began to wander away from the situation at hand, and his limbs ached comfortably against the ground.

There was a faint crumbling sound sounding through his subconscious. It didn’t seem to fit in with the other hazy memories and ideas he was combing through. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with images of claws, fur, and tumbling stone.

His eyes shot open, but his focus was slow to follow. The pit of his stomach twisted with nausea, and he recognized that he had dozed off. The moon above had barely shifted, little harm done. Still, he couldn’t help but imagine what could have occurred. Was there any simpler prey than a sleeping man?

The sounds were coming from below him, so he flipped to his stomach and crawled slowly to the edge. Through the darkness he could just make out a dark form climbing the hillside. It was four-legged and moving very slowly. Other than the occasional slipped stone, its ascent was silent. Link watched the dark shape as it paused, and then disappeared into the mountain.

A cave. Shelter.

As quietly as possible, Link worked his way down. As he worked his way over to it, he could make out a narrow opening, somewhat triangular and overgrown. He was only twenty or so paces away when the yelping and snarling rang out from within. _“Wolves then,”_ he thought, “a _nd they’re fighting.”_ There was a brief desire to run in and break up the skirmish, but logically, it was better for him to let them fight it out. Notching an arrow, just in case, he leaned back against the loose volcanic stone and waited.

It was a tough thing to hear, the dying whimpers echoing faintly from the cave’s mouth. Bow raised, he slowly make his way in, following the sound of low, rumbling growls and cracking bones. After a short bend, the cavern opened up, tall enough for him to walk.

One beast lay near his feet, its breathing shallow and blood pooling at its neck. There was a green fire in its eyes, but it was dimming. The other creature stood in the back, bent over something. Link accidentally brushed his elbow against the rock wall, and the creature’s head immediately popped up. In its mouth was a pup, barely a week old. The wolf bit down on the newborn and it barely moved, quite docile in its death-grip. Link loosed his arrow.

The wolf yelped, dropped its prey, and shot forward. Link’s bow clattered to the floor as his sword and shield were raised. But he was a good shot, and the beast was significantly subdued when it tried to leap over his shield. A quick push and a downward slash stopped it for good.

Link stumbled back against the cave wall, aware of all the death around him, but desperate for a few hours’ sleep. It came to him quickly.

^ ^ ^

_Just survive the first night. The wilderness can seem cruel, the path quite daunting, but I can tell you from experience that the danger of the unknown, with few exceptions, is more enriching than any part of a safe and settled life. Hmm? Why did I stop? I’ll tell you, someday, but by then I expect you’ll already know._

Grey morning light worked its way into the cavern, and the sound of birdsong roused him. Grimly, he walked from one end of the cavern to the other. Of the litter that had been, two pups were left: one half-eaten and the other cold and starved. He picked it up, but it felt rigid and lifeless in his hands.

Why had he gone to sleep so suddenly, why hadn’t he checked? He knew deep down that he couldn’t possibly have helped or fed it, young as it was, but it still bothered him greatly. He could have shot the intruder at the cavern’s mouth, could have found a different bit of shelter.

Picking up his bow, and sheathing his sword, Link clambered outside. The valley was a dull and dark, and from the looks of it, sunrise was just minutes away. Quickly, he worked his way up the mountainside, eventually coming upon what must have been the flat spot from the night before. In the dawning light, he got his first good look at the valley from up high.

Forests covered much of it, a belt of lush green stretching from a jagged ridge to the East all the way to the very mountain he was standing on. Great forests were rare in Hyrule, most having been cleared for development or resources. The land he’d grown up in was a glorified thicket by comparison to this.

A large, central lake was largely hidden in a low morning fog with rivers snaking in every direction. He traced one eastward to a small desert, which seemed odd and required investigation.

Towering above it all, far higher than any other peak in the valley, was Death Mountain. From the peak, he theorized a person could see the entire valley, though the climb would prove fatal. Clouds thick with volcanic fumes and ash choked the upper half of the mountain, a lasting consequence of the Goron exodus, and the lack of their unique brand of maintenance.

Opening his travel journal, Link made a crude sketch of the lay of the land, sketching until his hand cramped. Spreading warmth drew his attention to the East, and when he looked up, he nearly dropped everything in his hands.

Two jagged peaks stood side to side, each curving away from, and then slightly toward each other. And in the center, rising steadily from between then, came the most dazzling sunrise he’d ever witnessed. Light pushed through the ridge, flooding the valley with innumerable hues of red, pink, and gold. The land came to life beneath his eyes. Birds took to the sky, and the keese flooded back into their caves for the night. Creatures could be seen moving through clearings between forests. Westerly winds delicately waltzed with the trees and meadows, everything shimmering in its coat of dew.

He had wounds to suture and wounds to wrap. He had barely slept, and had to slaughter his way to safety. But standing in the confluence of light and breeze, he couldn’t give a damn. He’d never felt better.

^ ^ ^

_Just survive the first night. Every night after will be a little easier, and each morning a renewed joy. Nothing compares to that first, wild breath of freedom._

_I’m proud of you, kid._

^ ^ ^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look at that, no Gerudo terms this time! I'm eager to get into the narrative meat of this story, and I think I'm getting there soon, but I felt like there was a little bit of world-building I ought to do. These days, this fandom seems to lend itself more to Zora-centric sexual antics than big narrative arcs, but I hope you all are enjoying this for what it is ;)  
> Let me know what you think, and take care!


	5. The Wild Roads

Zoheila stepped into the long stretch of light that had slowly crept beyond the cavern’s mouth. Black soil and volcanic ash kicked up beneath her feet, and a steady curtain of forests and hills rose above her. Quietly, she made for the nearest tree and scaled to the top-most branches. Balancing near the top, she looked out into the wilderness.

Her quarry had left an obvious-enough trail, and thus had served his full purpose. She considered the pleas of the seer Teva, to find him and spare him, but if half of what she’d heard about the valley was true, then he was likely already drowned, eaten, or otherwise dead. Putting it far from her mind, she reached into her cloak and pulled out the travel journal she’d received.

There were a few sketches detailing the topography, with notes about flora and fauna crammed into the margins and blank spaces. On the back of a particularly useless page about ferns was something far more interesting.

The sketch looked like little more than jagged lines, circles, and boxes, but when turned to its side, was clearly some kind of abstracted map. Next to many of the boxes were deep indentations in the parchment, and when she ran a bit of charcoal over them, they revealed small, modern lines of Hylian script. No doubt, the fool had traced directly over the page, and left his thoughts for anyone to read. She had to admit, though, his guesses were nearly as good as hers.

As she held up the page to the horizon, she could see how certain lines matched up with bodies of water, rivers, and ridges. The squares denoted man-made structures, and he’d placed a heavy circle around a box that seemed within the waters of a central lake. To the right, he had written _“central structure – palace? temple?_

Noting the peaks and the position of Death Mountain, she snapped shut the journal and oriented herself toward the lake.

With a childhood spent among seers and witches (who often doubled their lifespans through questionable means), Zoheila had been privy to legends and stories likely unknown to most Hyrulian historians and priests. That “central structure” was no country palace, nor an altar to Hyrule’s baffling pantheon of sages and spirits.

It was a grand tomb; the well-guarded resting place of High Queen Zelda, the last Wise ruler of the realm.

^ ^ ^

The lake shore stretched well beyond him, an endless stretch of tangled trees, muddy reeds, and rocky escarpments that occasionally rose high above the water. Tired as he was of caves, caverns, and darkened places, Link had taken the low road.

It was a hassle, clambering over stones, deadfalls, and whatever kept him above the mud, but it seemed the safest option. The pathways above were wide open, and the pig-men seemed to never rest. Their level of organization was as concerning as it was confusing. By all reports, the few moblins found in greater Hyrule had been dull, unsociable, and easily outmaneuvered. Here, that was not the case. However, their uncharacteristic warbands and patrols had proven useful. In the morning fog, their torches had led his gaze right to the island.

From up high, it looked like a simple stone platform, raised just slightly above the ground. The higher the sun rose, the more he had been able to make out. He spied a bridge, and some kind of stone archway; its wide entrance gaping like a maw. We could only guess at what it was or why it was there, but he had to start somewhere, and its central location seemed important.

Making steady progress, he settled into a quiet rhythm, listening for sounds above and behind him. The padding of leather boots against stone and sapwood. The gentle lap of freshwater against muddy shores. The hum of dragonflies on their midday hunt. It was all rather peaceful, and if he were anywhere else, he’d set up camp and fish the shoreline. His thoughts went out to rivers and shores beyond the valley, where beasts feared the fire, and the world seemed somewhat wild, but not wildly dangerous.

And then he stumbled, catching himself much too quickly on a branch much too small.

The crack echoed over the lakebed, and everything went still. Slowly, Link lifted his boot from the mud, cringing at the loud squelching as he pulled free. Gazing cautiously out into the waters, he was quite shocked to find a pair of eyes staring back.

They were large and bulbous, rising above a small island of blue-green scales. These eyes, too, had the uncanny spark of intelligence, and Link had a sinking feeling that he should’ve chosen the high road.

The aquatic creature leaned back and opened its mouth wide, almost as if it were staring up into the sun. Rows of jagged teeth revealed themselves, pale white and serrated. The air between them seemed to spark. Link carefully notched an arrow.

In all his research, he hadn’t come across any kind of fish-man like this. But, he was coming to realize that the valley was a world unto itself. Organized moblins, swarms of keese that darkened the sky; it was a place of wild magics. Aberrations seemed to be the norm. And as a ball of crackling fire launched from the creature’s gullet, he found himself unsurprised.

It landed somewhere to his left, hissing angrily against the wet mud and stone. Link held onto his arrow. The creature wasn’t attacking him, it was giving him a warning.

Weapon in hand, Link slowly back to the rocky bluffs and searched for a way up. The climb was cumbersome with one eye on the water, but he eventually reached the grassy top. By the time he had, the water was dotted with dozens of pairs of eyes, patiently watching as he crept out of sight.

The road above was quiet, and appeared empty. The pain from his injuries flared with each step, but was manageable. Moblin patrols would occasionally come down the road, but they were loud in their approach, and he had no trouble finding cover whenever he heard the telltale clatter of spears. They were organized, but not particularly observant of the trees that flanked the road.

Eventually, the darkened soil gave way to flatstone and sand, and though he could still see spot the lake beyond a stretch of rocky hills, he came to realize that his path-finding and moblin-dodging had led him slightly more to the East than he had intended.

The mid-day heat danced in waves off the rippled sand. Link shaded his eyes and peered beyond it, noting the sudden re-emergence of scrubland and forests not far away. What kind of desert was the size of a pond?

Erring on the side of caution, he collected a few pebbles, and threw them towards the center. They scattered in the air and pelted the sand in little bursts. Almost instantly, the sand began to shift, and the stones sank straight down. A bladed, tube-like creature emerged from the sand, mandibles gnashing above a hole at its top end. Link snorted, and stepped back onto solid ground

Immediately sensing him, it lunged in his direction, swerving through the sand as if it were nothing but air. As soon as it reached the hard dirt and stone, he could feel the rumblings of excavation beneath him. Several more tubes burst upwards from the pool of sand, their jagged, circular mouths opening and closing in the breeze.

Leevers, he knew from his studies, were reliant on scents in the breeze if they couldn’t sense their prey seismically. Where there was one, there were dozens, and some species could burrow through stone if given the time, so he didn’t feel too inclined to stay around and draw one. As he made his way back down towards the lake, he wondered how long it had taken them to hew their pool of sand from earth and stone. How many travelers had fallen into its depths?

^ ^ ^

Peering out from a sun-parched bluff, Link tried to decide on his next course of action. The day was stretching on, and he didn’t want to think about what might happen if he couldn’t find shelter. The shore and the sands were too unpredictable, so that left the roads. He could see he wasn’t too far out from the island, maybe only a thousand paces or so from the bridge. The problem lay in what guarded it.

The patrols seemed to happen on a time table, marching from the lakeshore, across the bridge, and then into the structure. Two would stay behind while the others disappeared into the darkness, only to reappear a short time later burnt and stumbling. Far fewer, he noticed, could be seen leaving than entering.

After a few hours of quiet scrutiny, a plan came together.

As quietly as possible, he worked his way down to trees along the road. It wasn’t long before a patrol came clattering by, the smell of them swallowing up the heady breeze of the forest. One stopped and sniffed the air, turning towards the roadside. Link froze, a sharp intake of breath caught somewhere in the throat.

Mentally, he cursed himself. _Scent!_ He could wear all the green in the world and it wouldn’t make a difference if the damned things tracked by smell!

Its porcine eyes narrowed in on him, as if peering straight through the shrubs and deadfalls. It mumbled something deep and unintelligible, catching the attention of its comrades. There was murmuring, a shout, and then silence as a larger Moblin in the back swung his meaty palm, knocking forward the distracted patrol. Each soldier stumbled heavily into the next, and they picked up their march again. Link slowly sank to the dirt.

The soil was wet and loamy, and he dug his fingertips down. Running his hands from the bridge of his nose to the back of his neck, he smeared the dirt into his skin. Its fecund, mossy smell was strong, almost overpowering. _Good. Hopefully that helps._

Once masked, Link snuck after them as fast he could; hoping to stay just behind the patrol, but not wanting to draw their attention backwards. As they crossed the bridge and began filing through the entrance of the island structure, he watched and waited, bow drawn. The two left behind to guard the entrance seemed to be staring off into the lake, paying no attention. _Two,_ he thought. _I can handle two._

Arrow notched, Link stepped out from the forest, aim high. He watched as it arced up into the sun, and came down powerfully into one guard’s shoulder. The pig-man spun back and downwards with the impact, a guttural scream piercing the afternoon. The other guard wasted no time, pivoting down the wooden bridge, spear-first. Link aimed again, but faltered, the arrow landing short. He threw his bow to the side and reached back for his sword and shield, running to meet the beast in the middle.

The moblin angled its weapon for Link's stomach, but he had time to side-step, wincing as the spearhead cut a clean groove through his uncle’s shield. The shock of the impact pulled his attention, and he barely had time to raise his sword before the spear was arcing backwards, followed by the jagged grin from his opponent. The razor tip swung dangerously close, and Link leaned back, losing his footing.

Something like a chortling laugh rumbled from the moblin as it pulled back, readying for the killing stroke. In a panic, Link allowed himself to fall backwards, somersaulting over his neck and back onto his feet. The spearhead dug deep into the wood between them, and he leapt forward to strike.

With a series of downward slashes, he cut deep through the guard's right arm, who reeled back in pain, leaving its weapon in place. With a terse scream Link leapt forward, pushing his blade through the creature’s chest. Catching on ribs and sinew, it took all his strength to push through. The moblin opened its mouth as if to scream, but couldn’t manage much more than a gurgling whine. It fell backwards, its clawed hands digging into the wood.

With a grunt, Link pulled on his uncle’s sword. Blackened blood seeped from either side of the wound, spilling out onto the bridge. He’d killed two of them in as many days, but hadn't seen so much blood the night before. It seeped between the bridge planks, dripping down into the sulfurous, turquoise waters of the lake.

As he retrieved his bow, he heard a skittering sound from below the bridge. Looking over, the bulbous eyes of fish-men stared back. Some were craning their heads, trying to catch droplets of blood between their rows of teeth.

_Well, better flesh go in than fire come out._

As if in answer to his thoughts, one of the fish men launched alarmingly high out of the water, though not far enough to reach the bridge or corpse. A frenzy of jumping and snarling started beneath him. A few well-aimed fireballs snapped the support ropes besides the dead moblin. Quickly, Link ran to the corpse and pushed with all his might, tumbling it over the edge. He didn’t bother looking down, ignoring the visceral sounds that fell behind him as he crossed the bridge.

The other guard was nowhere to be seen, but a trail of fresh blood led through a stone archway. Perfectly hewn stairs led down into a deep darkness, but he thought he could make out an orange glow at the bottom. Along the archway, an inscription was cut in ornate lettering. It took him a minute, but he was eventually able to parse its meaning.

_“In walking away, we honor her wisdom. In staying, we share in her sacrifice.”_

He read the words over and over, memorizing the antiquated lettering, the stilted syntax of an older era. Clues to a secret buried deep beneath him.

Weapon drawn, Link descended into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this sure took me a long time to update! Got too focused on other projects, I suppose. Moving forward, things should be snappier. Loved writing this piece! The plot stuff is fun, but sometimes you just want to write about swords and monsters, you know? Hope you enjoyed, and let me know what you think! Cheers!


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